


When I Give

by intergalactix



Series: Sawen Lavellan: An Anthology [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 14:52:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4964977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergalactix/pseuds/intergalactix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of the little moments that make up Abelas and Sawen Lavellan's relationship.</p><p>“When I give, it’s because I know the value in what I have in my heart.”<br/>— Rob Hill</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Leave

**Author's Note:**

> 20 Oct. 2015 - I have decided to turn this work into a collection of drabbles, to keep them all neatly in once place. Sorry for any confusion!

_1\. "don’t leave"_

 

Abelas wakes from his slumber much earlier than he would have liked.

He suspects it isn’t even dawn before he so much as opens his eyes, and when he does glance out the window he sighs, the lack of sunlight confirming his suspicion. Early a riser as he may be, even he has reservations about rising before the sun.

He knows any attempt to return to sleep would be futile, so he moves to get out of bed and begin his day… but is then promptly pulled back into place, an arm slipping around his waist.

Abelas looks down and sees that Sawen has curled up on her side next to him, facing him though her eyes remain closed. Her hand goes to the middle of his chest and she pushes him down again, settling over him once he’s flat on his back. She drapes her arm across him and rests her head against his shoulder, burying her face in the crook of his neck and sighing contentedly, satisfied with her handiwork.

Abelas cannot muster the will to resist her, a small smile coming to his face as his arms encircle her. “I did not mean to wake you,” he starts to apologize.

“Then don’t leave,” she murmurs groggily, lips brushing against his skin.

“It is morning,” he informs her.

Sawen scowls. “ _Hardly_.”

“There are important matters to which I must attend.”

“Yes,” she agrees, “such as sleep.”

Accepting his defeat, Abelas chuckles and dismisses the frown creasing his lover’s brow with a kiss, a silent assurance that he no longer intends to go anywhere. She hums softly as he begins to stroke her hair, gently combing it away from her face.

Sleep does not find him again this morning, but Abelas is content to watch as Sawen rests in his arms, her expression now peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prompt fill originally posted on my [Tumblr](http://sirenfromspace.tumblr.com/post/130816082788/1-for-abellan). Thanks for reading, and feedback would be appreciated!


	2. Sweat

_29\. “sweat” _(pre-relationship)_  _

 

In the Hinterlands, the air is humid and warm, the sun bright and high in the sky.

Abelas sits in the center of the Inquisition’s encampment, tending to his armor, which is much too cumbersome and constricting to wear on such a hot day. The sound of steel blades clanging together occasionally pulls his attention to the open field surrounding the camp, where the Inquisitor and Cole engage in a spar.

Abelas notes the differences in their fighting styles; Cole is light on his feet, his movements swift and graceful, striking with careful precision. Sawen moves with similar grace when she dodges, but her offensive strikes are more aggressive, her stance wider, feet firmly grounded in the grass. Cole maintains an advantage throughout their spar, however, daggers being more his area of expertise than the archer’s, but the disparity does not render Sawen totally incapable of defending herself.

It had not been his intention to stare unabashedly, but Abelas finds himself rooted in place, watching their dance of blades with unwavering fascination. Particularly, his gaze gravitates toward Sawen, following her movements closely, admiring the sheer strength she exudes, the way her muscles contract and expand as she moves. She, too, had done away with her armor in favor of something more weather appropriate: a simple pair of loose cotton trousers and a cropped top.

An unexpected blow from Cole suddenly knocks her to the ground, and Sawen lands on her backside with a grunt. Her daggers drop from her grasp to the ground on either side of her, forgotten.

“Sorry!” Cole apologizes sincerely, a worried look on his face as he drops his own weapons and extends a hand towards her.

Sawen smiles as she stands upright with his assistance, assuring him that she is fine and complimenting him on his technique. Once steady on her feet, she raises her arm and wipes the sweat from her brow, and Abelas inhales deeply when he notices the way her strong body glistens under the light of the sun.

“She’s well fit, yeah?”

Abelas abruptly tears his gaze away from the Inquisitor, which earns him a shrill laugh from the fourth member of their traveling party. Sera then offers him a wide, cheeky grin, a knowing glint in her eye.

“S’all right,” she tells him. “I can keep a secret, elfy. Won’t stay secret for long if you keep starin’, though.”

Silently, Abelas returns to the task of cleaning his armor and tries his best to ignore the flush that warms his cheeks


	3. "I'm flirting with you."

_4\. “I’m flirting with you.”_

 

As she ascends the staircase to Skyhold’s main library, Sawen is surprised to find Abelas standing in front of the nearest bookcase, his arms folded across his chest and a frown creasing the twining green branches that mark his brow.

She tries not to laugh as she wonders what could possibly be troubling him. Then again, the sentinel’s natural countenance often appears quite dour, to say the least, making it equally as likely that he is simply lost in concentration.

“Abelas,” she says, smiling when he turns to look in her direction.

“Inquisitor,” he greets politely as she approaches him. He offers her a brief smile in return, before returning his attention back to the bookcase and frowning once more.

Again, Sawen withholds her laughter. “What’s the matter?”

“Is it not a common practice for shemlen to organise their texts alphabetically?” he asks, his tone conveying his disapproval.

Sawen knows it’s likely a rhetorical question, but she answers anyway. “They are organised by color, primarily, then alphabetically by the authors’ surnames.”

Abelas turns to her again, regarding her with a look of confusion.

“I know,” she says, not quite understanding the concept herself, but far be it from her to argue with Dorian when it came to how he chose to maintain the library. “I don’t suppose you would happen to know what color the book is, would you?”

“I did not think to ask,” he replies, followed by a sigh. “What I know is that it was penned by a shemlen called Laurent.”

Sawen’s brows rise at his flawless pronunciation of the Orlesian surname, but that would have to be a conversation for later time. She hums thoughtfully, her eyes scanning over the row of books in front of her, a fingertip coming up to trace the spines. She then kneels down to inspect the shelves at the very bottom of the bookcase, carefully looking over each printed name.

“Here,” she says, sliding the text out from its resting place among several other green books, tucked away on the leftmost corner. Standing upright, she crinkles her nose in confusion as she looks at the title embossed on the front cover, unable to read the ornate Orlesian script.

“Yes, that is it,” Abelas confirms. “Thank you.”

Sawen holds the book out for him to take. “All right, I have to ask. When exactly did an ancient elf find the time to learn Orlesian?”

Abelas accepts the tome with a nod of thanks. “You and your Inquisition were not the first to ever trespass Mythal’s temple. I learned many tongues during my service.”

“Truly?” she asks, unable to hide her surprise.

“I would not have been able to communicate with you otherwise.”

“You have me there,” Sawen says. “To be honest with you, I was under the impression that you and the sentinels had more of a ‘violence first, questions optional’ policy when it came to intruders.”

Abelas smiles at her description. “You are not entirely wrong.”

“Josephine and Leliana have been trying to teach me Orlesian for months,” she goes on. She folds her arms and leans against the corner of the bookcase. “ _Months_. A lost cause, I’m afraid.”

“I could teach you,” he offers, tucking the book under his arm.

Sawen laughs out loud at the idea of it–an ancient elf, of all people, teaching her Orlesian. But then she remembers that this ancient elf is none other than Abelas, and suddenly the idea sounds more enticing than it does silly.

She meets his gaze deliberately, tilting her head to the side.

“Private lessons?” she asks, lowering her voice to avoid being overheard. “I quite like the sound of that.”

Abelas smirks at her. “I thought you might.”

“I should apologise in advance for what will likely be a complete disaster, despite your best efforts.” She angles her body forward, moving closer to him, only just invading his personal space. “Then again, perhaps this time will be different… what with your talent for _tongues_ and all.”

Abelas shakes his head at her lewdness, and Sawen doesn’t miss the way his cheeks turn a light shade of pink at her words. She smirks back at him, triumphant.

“I’m flirting with you, by the way,” she adds.

“I am well aware of your intentions, Sawen,” Abelas replies pointedly, purposefully doing away with his use of her official title.

“Good. Because you weren’t the first few times I attempted.”

“As you so often like to remind me.”

Sawen moves to take a step backward, satisfied with the amount of teasing she’s caused him to endure for now. Before she can get very far, however, Abelas encloses his long fingers around her wrist and tugs her even closer. Sawen stumbles somewhat, reaching for his arms in order to balance herself just as he lowers his lips to her ear.

“Go to your quarters,” he whispers, “and I will meet you there shortly.”

When he releases her, Sawen immediately turns to depart, grinning slyly at him over her shoulder as she disappears down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet was prompted by the lovely [Calyah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Calyah/pseuds/Calyah) over on my [Tumblr](http://sirenfromspace.tumblr.com/post/135418198053/4-for-sawenabelas-please) (and oops, I forgot to post it here to AO3 earlier haha). Please go check out her work and give her all the love <3


	4. Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sawen discovers the true purpose behind the vallaslin, she decides to let her marks honoring Dirthamen fade. Years later, she asks Abelas to tattoo a new design for her in order to move forward.

Lying on her back, with her eyes closed, Sawen focuses on her breathing - inhaling until her chest is full, exhaling until her belly is flat. The pain she feels is hot and sharp and constant, accompanied by the sound of needles plucking at the surface of her forehead, depositing ink in the layers of skin underneath. The sound is both unsettling yet oddly soothing, the repetition creating a rhythm that she can time her breaths to. She endeavours to keep her expression neutral, keeping her facial muscles from twitching and disturbing the tattooing process.

Abelas works methodically above her with gentle and practiced hands. How many times, Sawen wonders, had those very hands given young sentinels their vallaslin, signifying their devout service to Mythal? Over the years, she has personally seen to the maintenance of Abelas’s vallaslin as well, and she can think of no one she trusts more to perform this task for her in return.

The marks of Dirthamen are now considerably faded from her skin, save for the few stubborn lines on her forehead that would soon be covered up. Together, Sawen and Abelas created the new design she would bear, one that would be uniquely hers and would symbolise no one but herself. She mourned the loss of her original vallaslin when she first decided to let them fade, the loss of what she thought they represented and how special they once were to her.

But the time for grieving is over, and today - _now_ \- she can finally make peace with that part of her life, and reinvent the vallaslin once and for all.

The entire process takes more hours than she cares to keep track of, but when at last Abelas pulls away from her, the air comes rushing out from her lungs in a shuddering breath. Buzzing with an array of palpable, conflicting emotions, Sawen clenches her fists at her sides in order to keep her fingers from trembling.

Abelas wipes the lingering ink and blood from her skin with a clean, wet cloth, soothing the tender markings with the cool fabric.

“It is done,” he says softly.

Carefully, Sawen sits up from the bed and swings her legs over the side. She winces slightly at the stiffness in her muscles, and takes a brief moment to stretch before she stands and crosses the room.

As she approaches the mirror hanging from their bedroom door, she is struck with awe, and she stares at her reflection in complete shock and silence. The new markings stand out proudly on her forehead in bold black ink, slightly raised and puffy from irritation though beautiful nonetheless. She thought the design to be striking on paper, but it pales in comparison to this moment of finally seeing it on her skin. She takes another shaky breath, taking it all in.

Abelas comes to stand behind her. He smiles at her through their shared reflection, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Is it what you wanted?” he asks.

Sawen’s chin begins to quiver as tears gather in the corners of her eyes and slowly slide down her cheeks. She bows her head and lets them flow freely, a smile tugging at her lips.

The vallaslin once represented her ascension into adulthood. Then, they became a daily reminder of all the painful truths her people had lost to time.

Now, they stand for her rebirth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The artwork shown above was drawn and painted by yours truly, and then I wrote this drabble to go with it. Thanks for reading!


	5. Sick

She awakens to the feeling of fingers combing through her hair, tucking the limp, messy strands behind her ear.

Sawen hums into her pillow, her voice hoarse from a combination of illness and sleep. She quickly becomes aware of the all-over ache in her body, sore muscles protesting against even the most subtle of her movements. Even after several hours rest, her body is as exhausted and weak as before she went to sleep, and she can’t help but sigh in disappointment. It isn’t often that Sawen finds herself so sick, but once illness does claim her it sinks its claws into her, unwilling to grant her any sort of reprieve.

“Mm,” she mumbles, “what time is it?”

“Late,” a deep voice replies.

Blearily, she opens her eyes and lifts her head. She squints in an attempt to focus her vision sooner, and manages a small smile once she makes out the sight of Abelas sitting at the edge of her bed. He continues to move his fingers gently through her hair, before his hand comes to rest at the base of her neck.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Terrible,” she croaks bluntly. Rolling onto her side, she collapses back down onto her pillow. “A little dizzy, too.”

Frowning, Abelas covers her forehead in order to check her temperature. His hand is quite cool against her skin, no different than it was earlier in the day when he first put her to bed.

“You are still feverish,” he says.

“I’m afraid so,” Sawen agrees. She tries to inhale deeply, but finds herself too congested, and she groans. “Ugh, shit. Whatever this is, it’s been going around Skyhold for a while now.”

“It has.” Abelas lowers his hand back to his side, turning his body toward the end table. Sawen watches curiously as he picks up a steaming mug from a copper-plated platter. “I believe this may assist in alleviating your symptoms.”

“What is that?” she asks.

“Ginger tea.”

Sawen’s ears twitch. “Ooooh, _gimmegimmegimme_.”

Abelas brings the mug closer to her face, allowing her to inhale the aroma billowing from the top. The smell of ginger and other spices instantly begins to clear her airways, opening up her nasal passages.

“Are you able to sit up?” Abelas asks.

Nodding, Sawen slowly and carefully pushes herself upright, using her arm for leverage and then support. Abelas reaches out to keep her steady with one hand as the other brings the cup to her lips, helping her drink. Sawen tips her head back and gulps the tea down greedily, enjoying the way the hot liquid soothes the scratchiness in her throat.

When Sawen is finished, Abelas sets the mug back down, before he turns his attention back to her. He takes in the sight of her - tired, disheveled, an all around mess - and offers her a small, sympathetic smile as he leans in to press his lips to her warm forehead. His hand returns to her hair, and Sawen sighs contentedly, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch. They remain that way for several long moments before she breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Abelas pulls back from her, regarding her questioningly. “What for?”

Sawen makes an all-encompassing gesture with her hands. “You know. This. Me being disgusting and sick, making you breathe in my germs and wait on me like this.”

Abelas chuckles and shakes his head. “You are not disgusting.”

“That’s debatable,” Sawen says. “But I’m most definitely contagious.”

“That is of no consequence,” Abelas says.

“You’re going to get sick,” she insists.

“You needn’t worry, Sawen,” he assures her. “What matters presently is that you are unwell, and I would not leave the task of ensuring your recovery to someone else.”

Taking her chin between his fingers, Abelas bends to kiss her forehead once more, signaling the end of the discussion. Sawen smiles at the sweetness of the gesture and nods.

“All right,” she says. “In that case, I’ll be sure to return the favor next week when you’re bedridden and ill.”

“I look forward to it,” Abelas replies teasingly. “Now, lie back down. It is time for you to resume your rest.”

Sawen happily obliges, returning to her pillow and settling comfortably against the mattress. Abelas stands briefly in order to strip down to his smalls, and then returns to the bed to join her under the covers.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, kissing his cheek.

Silently, Abelas nods and draws her into his arms in response, positioning her against his chest and tucking her head beneath his chin. Sawen wraps her arm tightly around his midsection, breathing in the clean scent of his skin, relieved that she can even breathe at all. 

It is not long before she finds herself drifting off again, slipping into a much more comfortable, restful sleep.


	6. Smiles and Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abelas and Sawen enjoy a morning filled with silliness and laughter. Inspired by the tags I wrote in [this post](http://sirenfromspace.tumblr.com/post/139852992656/writing-romantic-abellan-smut-in-a-fic-thats-been).

 

_“Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.”  
― Emily Dickinson_

 

* * *

“You have funny looking toes.”

Abelas frowns as he looks down the length of his body. His legs stick out from under the covers draped over their naked bodies, on display for her to scrutinize to her heart's content. 

Perplexed, he flexes his toes in consideration. “Do I?”

Sawen snuggles closer to him and laughs, her breath warm against his shoulder. Abelas turns his gaze back to her. She looks lovely in the mornings, rested and serene, and he instinctively draws her closer to him, enjoying their shared body heat. The sunlight filtering through the grand window in their bedroom illuminates her form, turning her freckled skin to gold. 

He smiles at her wryly, awaiting her explanation.

“They're so long!” she exclaims. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen toes as long as yours. Must be why you have such good balance.”

Abelas snorts. “I did not realise you paid such close attention to the feet of others. Is this something I should be aware of?”

“I don’t have a foot fetish,” she replies quickly.

“Of course not,” he agrees sarcastically. “How foolish of me to imply otherwise.”

Sawen moves so that she is halfway on top of him, her face so close to his that their noses nearly touch.

“I _don’t_.”

“If that is what you wish me to believe, then I believe you,” Abelas says.

She glares at him playfully, before she kisses him once on the mouth. “Ass.”

Abelas chuckles and rolls the both of them over, so that Sawen is on her back and he is above her, and he kisses her again, softer, slower. He then pulls back and sits up, and when Sawen opens her mouth to object to his absence he promptly pulls the sheets away from her legs. 

He stares at her legs and feet in silence for several long moments, observing them as carefully as she had observed his. Sawen watches him in amusement, one eyebrow raised.

“What is it?” she asks. “You’re starting to worry me.”

He shakes his head. “It is nothing.”

Sawen sits up suddenly, ignoring the blankets that cover her as they fall into a heap around her waist.

“Tell me,” she insists.

Abelas smiles. “It simply occurs to me now why you find my toes so unusually long, considering the state your own.”

She wrinkles her nose at him. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing, other than the fact that they resemble potatoes,” he tells her bluntly. “Like the small round ones you enjoy with your evening meals.”

Sawen's eyes widen in shock, before she suddenly erupts into a fit of loud, howling laughter, clutching her sides as she falls back dramatically against the mattress. She tries several times to calm herself, but the ridiculousness of his statement is too much to bear.

“Creators,” she chokes out, eyes watering. “Potatoes? Really?”

Abelas simply smirks at her reaction. 

“Potatoes,” she repeats in disbelief. “How did you come up with a comparison like that one?”

“Do you truly not know?” he asks. “Think carefully, Sawen.”

She stares at him hopelessly. “I am thinking. I’ve got nothing.”

“I would expect that you to understand such a joke.”

She shakes her head. “Sorry, _emma lath_. I’m glad you find me funny, but you’re going to have to explain this one to me.”

Abelas has to suppress his own laughter - at his own joke, no less - before he can reveal the punchline to her. “Pota _toes_.” 

There is a pause between them, and Sawen blinks slowly as the meaning behind his works sinks in, before she snorts and laughs again.

“Abelas, that was _awful_ ,” she deadpans. 

“Was it? I seem to recall your fondness for such poor puns,” Abelas says. “I had hoped you would appreciate my attempt.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a very good attempt,” she teases with a grin. “Or... maybe I'm a little jealous I didn't think of it myself.” 

Abelas laughs loudly, freely, at her admission, no longer caring to conceal his amusement, and shakes his head at her. Sawen sits up once more in order to reach for him and drag him back down on top of her, smothering his laughter with a kiss. Abelas hums against her lips as he rests his weight on top of her, though a few more low chuckles escape from deep within his chest. He makes himself comfortable and kisses a trail from the corner of her mouth to the base of her throat.

“I am inclined to believe it is the latter,” he finally says against her neck.

She giggles as his lips tickle her. She weaves her fingers between the long strands of his hair and guides him lower. “Guilty. It truly was terrible, but I mean in that in the most complimentary way possible. I hope you think of more.”

Abelas smiles against her collarbone and laughs again. “I will be happy to try.”

* * *

 

Elvhen translations:

 _emma lath -_ my love


	7. Only a Spar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in response to this prompt on my [Tumblr](http://sirenfromspace.tumblr.com/post/142866538598/1-for-sawen-abelas-3): "I have you shoved against the wall but now I can’t stop looking at your mouth"

_It's only a spar_.

That’s what Sawen told herself, at least, moments before she accepted Abelas’s invitation for a practice duel in the training grounds. A friendly duel between allies, as he put it. Best two out of three, loser buys drinks for the victor. Simple.

Sawen nearly laughs at the memory. The lies she tells herself...

They were evenly matched throughout the spar. Abelas won the first round, having successfully knocked the wooden training dagger out her grasp after only a few minutes. Sawen accepted the loss gracefully, but she didn't stay down long. The second round soon belonged to her, and by the looks of things from where she stands now, so would the third.

Abelas still has his dagger, but he's rendered totally immobile, his body pinned against the wall. Sawen holds him in place with her forearm firmly planted across his chest, leaning her weight into the contact, keeping him still with sheer strength alone.

_Only a spar,_ she thinks. _Who am I kidding?_

Nothing between them was _only_ ever anything.

She looks up at him, craning her neck to meet his eyes directly. His stare is intense and equally as deliberate as hers, his golden eyes shining even in the light of dusk. Their bodies are pressed tightly together, and she can feel him breathing heavily underneath her, his chest rising and falling, lips parting with each labored inhale and exhale.

Sawen lowers her gaze to his mouth. He has such perfectly shaped lips, she can’t help but notice, curved like an elegantly carved bow. She swallows as she focuses on the soft pout of his bottom lip, and she imagines how it might feel between her teeth if she were to just lean in a bit closer and...

She promptly tears her gaze away from him, clearing her throat.

“Victory is mine,” she manages to say, her voice coming out strained, like she hasn't used it in weeks. She’s blushing now, but stubbornly pretends that she isn’t in the hopes that she may yet save face.

Abelas remains silent, though a few moments later Sawen hears the sound of his weapon softly hitting the grass. She glances down at it briefly before she returns her gaze to his face. More specifically, his mouth.

His lovely, perfect, _stupid_ mouth.

“Your move, Inquisitor,” he says slowly, and she watches his lips form the words as if she’s in a trance. Sawen inhales deeply as she feels his breath on her face, warming the scant space between them.

He's taunting her, tempting her. It's another invitation, a new challenge, unspoken but not unheard.

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” she swears under her breath.

Decision made, Sawen tosses her dagger behind her, places her hands on his shoulders, and jumps. Abelas has only a moment to anticipate her movements before he can react. His eyes widen as he catches her, the question dying on his lips as her mouth covers his own in a hard, fast kiss.

The momentum from her jump sends them stumbling back into the wall behind them. Sawen winces as her knees scrape against the rough stone, but she doesn’t let such a small amount of pain deter her, tightening her legs around Abelas’s narrow hips. She feels his fingers flex around her thighs as he draws her closer, and then he quickly reverses their positions, pinning her body between his and a nearby tree.

When he's sure that she isn't going anywhere, his hands begin to roam, grabbing there, cupping here, all the while kissing her like a flame would consume all in its path. Sawen certainly feels as though she’s ablaze, and she sighs into his mouth, weaving her fingers between the long strands of hair, loosened from its plait after their spar. He tastes of fresh elfroot and mint, and Sawen makes a quiet, curious noise in the back of her throat. She fights back a smile, connecting the dots in her mind as the answer becomes clear to her. Abelas came to this duel prepared, and one way or another he intended to emerge a victor.

They part for air at exactly the same time, but Abelas continues his exploration of her, kissing her chin, her jaw, each of her cheeks. His hands are everywhere, reverent and unrelenting.

“Your quarters?” he asks, punctuating the question with a nip at her ear. “Or mine?”

Sawen rolls her eyes, but shudders in his arms as he kisses her down the side of her neck, her skin tingling in the wake of his mouth. Creators, does he really think she cares? She doesn't want to speak, doesn't want to _think_ —

She gasps when she feels the scrape of teeth against her collarbone. Determined, she tugs on his hair and brings his face back to hers, kissing him hard on the mouth. Finally giving into temptation, she takes his lower lip between her teeth and bites down gently, smiling at the stifled, broken sound Abelas makes in response.

“Whichever is closer,” she replies huskily. She kisses him once more, softer this time, with promise. “But don’t forget that you owe me a drink.”

Grinning, Abelas wraps his arms securely around her and proceeds to carry her off into the courtyard.


	8. A Promise Kept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ever so much to [calyah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Calyah/pseuds/Calyah) for reading this over for me and helping me with the finishing touches! <3

In the quiet dark of night, she listens.

His breaths leave his body at slow, regular intervals as his chest rises and falls underneath her cheek. When he exhales, she can both hear and feel the puffs of air hitting the top of her head, and she smiles.

With her cheek on his chest, she hears too the gentle thrum of his heartbeat, slow and steady, a reminder that he is alive and well. Carefully, the tips of her fingers trace the fresh scar in the center of chest, a souvenir gifted to him by the terror demon that very nearly took his life earlier in the week. The flesh is jagged and raised, though so far is healing well, better than they had both expected. But the sight of it makes her throat tighten and a frown pinch her brow.

A reminder of all she could have lost.

Sighing quietly, Sawen tilts her head in order to look up at him, her eyes filled with a fondness she could never hope to measure. Moonlight filters in through the tall open windows behind them, illuminating the striking features of his face with its ethereal glow. Abelas continues to sleep undisturbed, seemingly unaware of her gaze. Sawen feels his breaths against her forehead now, warming her skin.

She has never seen him more at peace. Her hand stills, the tension leaving her body with relief.

“Go to sleep, _‘ma lath_.”

Sawen smiles again when she sees his lips start to move—his speech slurred, voice rough—as she realizes she has been caught.

“I am asleep,” she whispers back in jest. “This is a dream.”

Abelas grunts quietly, but does not argue further. He simply turns so that he is lying on his side, taking Sawen with him. He engulfs her with the warmth of his embrace, his long arms tight around her form, their bodies pressed together beneath their linens. For a moment, Sawen wonders if he is still conscious, but after another he breaks the silence.

“Go to sleep,” he says again, scolding her. Then, more gently: “I will find you in the Fade.”

He kisses her then, his lips moving slowly over hers. Sawen sighs into his mouth, and already she can feel her eyelids grow heavy with the promise of sleep.

With a hum, Sawen pulls away and pushes herself into the space between his neck and shoulder. Abelas adjusts his grip around her before doing the same, leaving a final kiss along her neck before settling comfortably.

“Promise?” she asks.

Abelas nods slowly, already on his way to slumber, and Sawen closes her eyes, listening to comforting sound of his breath at her ear.

“Promise.”


	9. Long and Hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fun little drabble prompted by my dear friend [calyah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Calyah/pseuds/Calyah) over on Tumblr. Check out the full prompt by clicking [here](http://sirenfromspace.tumblr.com/post/147008503668/oc-headcanon-this-may-be-way-off-but-i-could)!

When Abelas crosses the threshold into the main hall of Skyhold, he has only a moment to prepare before Sawen launches herself into his arms.

He smiles as he embraces her, taking a step back in order to regain his balance. But he lifts her off of her feet effortlessly and holds her tightly, familiarizing himself once more with the the feeling of her body against his. Sawen wraps her limbs around him in return and she tells him how much she has missed his presence, pressing kiss after kiss against his face.

“You’re awake,” he states as he sets her back down. It was early still, an hour shy of dawn. He expected to be the one to her surprise her as he slipped into bed beside her.

“Of course,” she replies. “You’ve been gone for nearly three weeks. I wanted to see you the moment you returned.”

He gazes down at her fondly and reaches to stroke her cheek. Sawen covers his hand with her own, fingers curling around his palm as she grins at him.

“How was your journey?” she asks him.

Abelas sighs. Though his search for another ancient elven tomb was successful in the end, the last several weeks consisted mostly of arduous travel through the Frostbacks. His muscles ached mercilessly the entire trek back to Skyhold as he longed for the comfort of home.

“It was long,” he confesses with a shake of his head. “And hard.”

Sawen snorts and barks out a laugh at his response. Abelas raises an eyebrow at her, having not expected such a reaction.

“What is it?” he asks.

With a smirk that could only mean trouble, Sawen says, “That’s what she said.”

Abelas looks puzzled, his brow creasing in thought.

“Who?”

Sawen laughs again and shakes her head. “Oh, never mind.”

“Who is ‘she’?” he presses. He takes a moment to look around, observing their surroundings. Everyone else who resided in the fortress should have been asleep. “There is no one else here.”

Sawen takes his hand and begins to lead them further into the castle, heading in the direction of their private quarters.

“There, there, Abelas,” she says teasingly. “You will realize soon enough.”

Halfway up the stairs to their room, the meaning of her words dawns on him at last, and Abelas cannot help groaning aloud as he realizes he has no one else to blame but himself.


	10. lovely, perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a smutty continuation of [this ficlet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4964977/chapters/15020905). Thank you so much to my beta reader [calyah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Calyah/), whose feedback and support is the wind beneath my wings. <3

They don’t even make it to her quarters.

His lips—those lovely, perfect, _stupid_ lips—are hot and insistent against hers, muffling every needy sound that escapes from the back of her throat. Sawen gasps when her back hits the wall of the stairwell, the stones cool to the touch even through her clothing, and the contrasting sensations cause her to shiver. She can’t find it in her to complain, not through the fog of lust clouding her mind. The more eager Abelas acts in his desire for her, the more Sawen feels the embers inside of her stoked into flames.

He pushes harder against her, his body absorbing the aftershocks of her shudder, and Sawen tightens her thighs around his hips.

“Here?” she asks.

Abelas nods wordlessly, kissing her again, and again, and again, and Sawen feels as though she is drowning in his passions, utterly consumed by him. She laughs, grinning around his lower lip as she takes it between her teeth.

“Perfect,” she whispers.

“You are,” Abelas whispers back.

His words send another shudder through her body, and Sawen moans sweetly into his mouth.

He releases her then, setting her down with care before he promptly begins disrobing her. Sawen leans back against the wall for balance, her hands joining his in order to move things along, working in tandem.

Her shirt is the first to go, and Abelas nearly pops the buttons clean off in his haste. Sawen shrugs out of the garment as she toes out of her boots. She kicks them aside before she pushes her trousers and smallclothes past her hips. Abelas kneels to divest her of them entirely, leaving heady, open-mouthed kisses down the length of her legs, further fanning the flames of her desire.

With her pants out of the way, Abelas reaches behind his back and pulls his tunic over his head in one quick, sweeping motion. Sawen’s eyes rove over the flushed, pale skin of his bare chest appreciatively as he stands. She moves to reach for his trousers, but Abelas stops her, and then he’s lifting her back into his arms, pushing her back against the wall. The cold stones now pressed directly against her bare skin are nothing compared at the warmth that is Abelas.

He worships her with kiss and touch. He mouths over her breasts, his lips thorough and ardent, his hands spread wide around her ribs, and her body trembles in anticipation of each movement. Sawen drags him even closer, seeking contact. The friction of his hard, still-clothed cock against her naked center draws out a ragged gasp from her, and she squeezes his shoulders impatiently.

“Abelas,” she pleads, her need too great for proper sentences. She hopes it’s enough to spur him into action.

He silences her with another, softer kiss.

“Patience,” he says.

“To the Void with patience,” she responds heatedly.

He merely smirks at her in return, and the sight is enough to make her quiver. Beneath her, Sawen can feel his hands working at his trousers, loosening the ties that keep him from her. Her pulse races, and her fingers dig into his shoulders, and then at last—at _last_ —she feels him press inside of her, the smooth slide of her body accepting his.

She squeaks, throwing her head back in pleasure. It hits the wall with a soft thud.

“ _Ow_.”

Abelas goes still. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, just— _ah._ ”

Sawen’s back inches up the wall as Abelas thrusts only once, her hips canting to meet his. She tangles one hand in his hair while the other slips between their bodies.

Abelas smiles against her throat. “Just…?”

Sawen groans. “Shite, Abelas, just shut up and fuck me already.”

Her vulgar words have an immediate effect on him. Sawen can feel it in the way his muscles tense, can hear it in the way his breath hitches in his chest, and without further delay Abelas begins to move.

Between him inside of her and the press of her own fingers, Sawen lasts only a few minutes. Strong thighs lock Abelas in place, and she cries out when she finally comes, stars exploding behind her vision. Purposefully, she holds Abelas’s gaze, wanting him to watch, wanting him to _see_ , and his response, as before, is instantaneous. His grip around her tightens as he quickens his pace, and then his hand is on her cheek, urgently guiding her mouth to his as he too finds completion, her name a whispered benediction on his lips.

Spent and sated, they slide to the floor. Abelas gathers Sawen into his lap, holding her close and rubbing her back as they both work to catch their breath. Sawen slumps against him gratefully, absently pressing kisses against his neck and shoulder.

“How is your head?” Abelas asks.

Sawen hears the laughter in his voice and smiles. “Okay... I think.”

His fingers carefully inspect the back of her skull, checking for damage. Sawen winces when they pass over a small lump.

“Or perhaps not,” she amends.

Abelas chuckles. He summons healing magic to his fingertips and treats the bump, reducing the swelling within seconds.

“This is the third time you have injured yourself in this way.”

When his magic dissipates, Sawen lifts her head from his shoulder in order to meet his gaze. Raising an eyebrow, she asks, “You’ve been keeping track?”

“It would be difficult to forget such a comical sight.” He smirks at her. “All three of them, in fact.”

Once again, Sawen finds her eyes dropping to his lips, enamored with how utterly handsome he looks when he regards her in such a way. She continues staring at his mouth distractedly as he speaks, hearing him but not quite listening. She smiles lazily, perfectly content to admire the view.

“Mmm,” she hums.

“You should really be more careful, however,” he continues.

“Mmhmm...”

“Sawen?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you listening to me?”

The question brings Sawen out of her daze, and she blushes, hoping that she hasn’t been caught. Smiling innocently, she leans in to give Abelas a brief, placating kiss.

“Of course, darling,” she lies. “I heard every word.”


	11. the cherry on top

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw [this prompt list](http://bluebellglowinginthedark.tumblr.com/post/31013467173/30-days-otp-challenge-nsfwversion) on Tumblr and was inspired by number 29, which states, "with food."

“Open your mouth.”

  
Abelas opens his eyes to find Sawen smirking at him and leaning forward across the tub. A cherry is pinched between her thumb and forefinger, and she holds it out invitingly.

  
A faint smile touches his lips. Obligingly, Abelas opens his mouth. He expects for her to throw it, but instead the hot, foamy water they share swishes around her as she moves closer. The scent of lavender bath oil fills his nose as Sawen settles down in front of him, kneeling between his parted legs, and brings the fruit to his lips. He takes it with teeth and tugs as Sawen pulls off the stem.

  
“What of the center?” he asks around his mouthful.

  
Sawen lifts her finger, a signal for him to wait. She retreats back to the other end of the tub and leans over the edge. Abelas watches her intently as he chews, admiring the smooth, strong lines of her back muscles as they stretch with each movement she makes. His eyes follow the trails of several rivulets of water as they slide down her bare skin and disappear back into the bath. 

  
The fruit itself is exquisite, he notes somewhat distractedly. The flesh is expectedly tart at first, but then dissolves into something much sweeter on his tongue. A perfect balance, he thinks, and continues to watch Sawen.

  
When she returns to him, she is carrying two bowls in her arms. In the left, an impressive clay pot filled to the brim with deep red cherries; in the right, a smaller receptacle for the pits.

  
It is in that moment that her intentions become perfectly clear.

  
“Prepared as always,” Abelas remarks. His tone is light, teasing, but he intends the words as a compliment. He knows his chosen to be smart and cunning. Even in this, nothing is half-measured.

  
Sawen smirks again. “Naturally.”

  
She holds out the smaller bowl for him to take. Abelas accepts it with both hands and spits the cleaned pit into its center before he deposits it on the counter beside him.

  
“Where did you acquire these?” he asks of the cherries. He moves to take one from the bowl himself, but Sawen stops him and holds it out of his reach.

  
“There was a vendor in the courtyard today,” Sawen says. “He tried to talk them up—said they were grown in the Orlesian countryside. But I’d know that flavor anywhere. These are Marcher cherries.”

  
She holds out another cherry for him. This time, when Abelas takes it from her, his tongue darts out to taste the fruit juice that lingers on her fingertips. She raises an eyebrow knowingly at him, but says nothing of it.

  
“You have had them before,” he guesses.

  
“Many times,” she says. “That is where I lived for many years, after all.”

  
“Of course.”

  
She feeds him yet another, slowly sliding her finger past his lips. Abelas nips at her knuckle playfully, satisfied when his actions earn him a laugh.

  
“Our farmers would trade for them every summer,” Sawen carries on. She places another cherry to his lips. “There was a saying among our clan that elves had not the blood of our ancestors flowing through our veins, but rather wine made from cherries.”

  
“In the temple,” Abelas says, when he is done chewing, “we made offerings of such a wine at the summer solstice.”

  
Sawen’s eyes soften, a flicker of recognition passing over them. “As did we,” she whispers.

  
Though tender, the moment is brief. Sawen gathers her resolve once more, her eyes steeled in determination. At last, she takes a cherry for herself. Abelas holds her gaze as she starts to bring it to her mouth, and he decides it is time for him to turn the tables.

  
“You are attempting to seduce me,” he accuses, doing away with pretense.

  
Sawen pauses, then dips her chin demurely. “Is it working?” she asks.

  
Abelas knows the shy smile on her face is entirely fake, and that her lack of a direct denial is in and of itself an admission. Especially when, beneath the water, he feels her other hand gently stroke the inside of his knee. He reaches for her, lifting her face.

  
“You have drawn us a sensual bath,” he continues, indicating to the bubbles floating around them. “You insist on feeding me my favorite fruit.”

  
Sawen moves closer to him, a familiar expression coming to her face. She says nothing more, merely places the cherry between her lips and waits with her brows arched expectantly.

  
Chuckling, Abelas relents and meets her halfway, drawing her into his lap as her mouth descends on his.


End file.
